


vignette

by slyther_ing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort, Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:32:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slyther_ing/pseuds/slyther_ing
Summary: oliver offers peace and quiet and comfort.





	vignette

**Author's Note:**

> short n sweet (reposted from tumblr)

 

The early winter sun makes Oliver stir more so than the sounds of construction outside, but the coolness of the spot next to him is what keeps him awake. The covers are comfortable in the cocoon around him but he’s roused to action by the quiet clink of a glass against a table issuing from the other side of their flat.

He shuffles out of bed, hissing at the cool floor against the bare soles of his feet, and makes his way to where he can almost sense the tension seeping through the air.

Oliver’s not surprised to see Marcus still bent over their kitchen table, dressed in last night’s outfit, and scribbling between a spread of parchment. He wishes he’d dragged Marcus to bed last night and put up more of a fight when Marcus had waved away his concern.

It’s with a firm settling of his hands against Marcus’ shoulder that he manages to grab his boyfriend’s attention. The minute twitch when he touches Marcus makes Oliver run his hands in a soothing motion.

“Did I wake you?” Marcus asks, still distracted.

“No,” Oliver replies, resting his chin on the top of Marcus’ close cropped head of hair. “I did miss you, though.”

“M’sorry.” Marcus mumbles, eyes still scanning from scroll to scroll.

Oliver glances at the long lists of numbers. “You said it was family finances?”

Marcus snorts. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Turns out my old man left behind a mess of bets and loans and bullshit. I’ve been trying to figure this out since - fuck, is it 6 already?”

“It is,” Oliver sighs, and he runs a hand through Marcus’ hair. Rubs his thumb across Marcus’ temples and smiles at the release of tension he can feel in Flint’s posture. “When do you need to do this by?”

Marcus shrugs, head tilting back as Oliver continues tapping his fingers, searching for the build-up of stress. He’s got dark circles under his eyes - they’re never fully gone, but Oliver can tell it’s gotten worse from the all-nighter.

“Why’d you do this to yourself if it’s not needed immediately?”

Marcus groans. “Didn’t want this to hang over my mum’s head.”

“C’mon,” Oliver presses his thumb into the jut of Marcus’ cheekbone, “Get some sleep.”

“Wood-”

“Now.” Oliver says firmly, pulling out his captain voice. Usually, Marcus would give him shit. Usually, Marcus isn’t running on three cups of coffee and no sleep.

It works, though Marcus grumbles regardless. Oliver doesn’t let up - he encourages Marcus out of his chair with more touches, rubs the slight stubble of Marcus’ jaw with the back of his knuckles, loops his arm through Flint’s and strong-arms him back to their bedroom.

The parchment, the calculations, all of that can wait.

“Can’t really,” Marcus complains, although he lets Oliver unbutton his shirt, lets Oliver shuck the starchy fabric off his frame, lets Oliver run his hands across the old scarring on his abdomen.

Oliver ignores him, digging through the unfolded laundry for the top Marcus prefers. “Too cold to sleep without a shirt.”

Marcus laughs, low, a sound that makes Oliver’s mouth quirk up in spite of itself. “Come to bed with me then. You’re a furnace.”

He’s dragged back by a pair of firm hands against his waist, and they both know that that was Oliver’s goal all along - that Marcus will only really get some rest if it’s of his own volition. Oliver’s figured out how to get Marcus to that point; it just takes some coaxing.

“Deal with it when you wake, alright?” Oliver says once Marcus is tucked in under his chin, sprawled over three-quarters of the bed like the bed hog he is.

“Will you help?”

“‘Course.” Oliver sighs, wishing that Marcus was in the habit of asking for help earlier. “I’m shit at numbers, though.”

Marcus’ snort vibrates against Oliver’s rib cage.

He snaps his knuckle against Marcus’ forehead. “Go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright, bossy.”

“Just looking out for you,” Oliver says quietly as Marcus’ breathing slows. He won’t be able to fall asleep - has never been able to once he’s awake. But contrary to his complaining, Marcus is warm against his chest, curled in the curve under his arm. Oliver watches the flicker of movement outside their window, the muffled calls of construction workers, and pulls the covers closer, content with waiting for when Marcus wakes up.


End file.
